Some Thoughts On Quiet Books, Timing, and the Ever Elusive Market

This is a tricky conversation we’re about to have. For years we’ve encouraged you to dig deep and tell your most personal, individual stories using your unique voice. But once you’ve honed your skills and excavated your most powerful voice—then what? What if you build it and nobody comes? What if the stories you’re driven to tell are quiet ones? Or don’t hit the current market sweet spot? Or have already been done a hundred times before?

Because sometimes the inescapable fact is, the things we love to write don’t sell. So then what?

Well, you can quit—which while a perfectly reasonable, legitimate life choice, is obviously not one we here at WU hope you make.

You can also self publish. And while this post isn’t about self publishing, the truth is, with the advent of self publishing you have the option—the luxury—of being able to tell your stories your way and still have them published and available to readers. Of course, the big question is—available to how many readers and how exactly will they discover your work? But that entire topic is the subject of a different post. I just wanted to acknowledge that was a very viable option once you have honed your craft.

Lastly, you can rework your stories to try and create a larger welcome mat, or you can polish your craft and skills so that your writing shines so brightly people will simply have to pay attention to it.

So this conversation we’re having is not about selling out your artistic vision to get a contract. Nor is it about watering down your artistic integrity in order to find readers. It’s about finding the largest, widest doorway into your story so that you can to draw in as many readers as possible, and then tell them exactly the core story you’re driven to tell.

A while back, Julia Baggott wrote a terrific piece about writing books of the heart versus more commercial books and pointed out that was a false dichotomy. Her point is a critical one (and if you haven’t read the piece take a moment and do so now)—we don’t have to choose one or the other. We can find ways to put pieces of our heart in more commercial ideas as well as find ways to make the books of our heart have a broader appeal.

There are a variety of things that allow a book to stand out and find a wide audience:
gripping plot
stunning reversals and sleight of hand
compelling characters
unique original voice
exquisite language
exploring the vulnerabilities and universal truths of the human heart

And of course, the best of the best often incorporate more than one of those elements.

If you write quiet books or books that go against current market conventions, that doesn’t mean all is lost. It simply means that some of these other aspects of your work will act as the wider doormat for your potential readers. And the good news is that widening that doormat does not have to radically alter the story you are hungry to tell.

It’s also important to remember that even though a subject has been tackled before—many times even—doesn’t mean you won’t bring something fresh and unique to that subject, something that will not only make it stand out, but allow it to shine. Vampires have been done scores of times, but someone always comes along every few years and brings a unique twist that causes their book to stand out in a wildly crowded field. Just ask Stephanie Meyers, Justin Cronin, or J. R. Ward.

Right as publishing was declaring that the angel book trend was OVER, along came Laini Taylor with her luminous Daughter of Smoke and Bone—a tale of an angel and a demon who fell in love, and for whom things did not end well. The familiar was made fresh and vibrant by her lyrical use of language and the stunningly original imaginative world she created. So even if the stories you are most driven to tell touch on a familiar landscape, there is always room to bring something fresh and new to a subject.

So, the first thing is to identify those elements that make your story yours—those things that are at the very heart of why you write in the first place. If you’re drawing a blank on what your core stories might be, poke around in your own work and your favorite books by other authors. Are there certain themes that resonate with you time and again? Redemption, forgiveness, self discovery, or the triumph of the human spirit? Are there stylistic choices that draw you in—taking the protagonist to the mat emotionally, a powerful catharsis, or transformative growth?

As you look at the components of the stories you’re drawn to tell, some elements will be absolute, non-negotiable. But others will be less set in stone, more fluid. Those are the elements you can play with and see if there are ways to use those more negotiable pieces to bring a more universal appeal or increased urgency to your work. That wider doormat that I talked about earlier.

One of the most helpful questions in identifying what’s is negotiable and what isn’t is to ask, Why are you compelled to tell this story? If you’re not compelled and just playing around with a cool idea, maybe that is part of the problem.

Once again, the answer is to poke around and ask yourself questions. Maybe you simply haven’t dug deep enough to recognize your own literary bone and sinew that runs through the cool idea or premise. Why does the cool idea appeal to you? Why are you so itching to play with this premise?

Still coming up blank? Since one of setting’s roles is to echo and enhance theme—chances are the setting or premise that appeals to you will have left a trail of breadcrumbs that will lead you to your deeper connection to this story and your thematic elements. Really drill down and identify the elements of that setting that call to you. Is it the thin veneer of civilization? The usurping role of technology? The brutality of the times? Or the contrast between social veneer and the teeming personal ambition? The never knowing who to trust? Conspiracies in high places? Once you’ve identified what intrigues you about the premise–what resonates with you–you will begin to see what is negotiable and what isn’t.

Setting can also be used to compare and contrast thematic elements, so if your core story is a more familiar one, a fresh new setting allows it to shine in an entirely new way. Marissa Meyer did this to stunning effect with her Lunar Chronicles, a series of fairy tale retellings set in the future with an android Cinderella, which brought an entirely fresh angle to these fairy tales. That lunar milieu came from Marissa’s crazy mad love of Sailor Moon when she was younger. So, and this is important, instead of watering down her individual vision she doubled down on it instead, combining two of her loves for something wholly unique.

I read an article recently where Joss Whedon talked about having read a fascinating book on the civil war just before writing the science fiction TV show Firefly. And while Firefly was set in space, Whedon brought a familiar, human feel to his world by bringing all the familiar elements of the Civil War to this more unusual setting.

So maybe step back and ask what would happen to your core, non-negotiable story if you set it in the old west? Or space? Or medieval China? What fresh new layers and nuances could that bring?

Or what if you took all the elements of a particular setting you loved and created something new with it? Dig deeper, as Joss Whedon did, and identify the elements that draw you to the Civil War. A country divided? The noble cause of fighting for others’ freedom? Brother fighting brother? Consider creating a new, alternate world using those elements. What would that newfound freedom allow you to expire within the context of your characters lives yet still touch on resonant chords with your readers?

The trick is that that unique angle or stamp you give a subject must stem from your own fascinations and passions.

Sometimes a more gripping plot or a fresh new setting holds little appeal for an author OR it is not the right answer for a particular story. Oftentimes ‘quiet book’ can be a byword for ‘anticipating small sales numbers’, but it doesn’t have to be.

Something important to remember is that just because your writing or story telling style is understated, doesn’t mean the emotions or issues you’re exploring have to be as well. It can be hugely effective to explore emotional upheaval with a quiet sucker punch as well as high drama.

So another way to play with the oomph of your story is through the interior landscape. Is there some way you can ramp up the emotional stakes in your mss? Explore a deeper theme? The emotional stakes of our characters aren’t only conveyed by our actual writing at the scene level, but can also be determined by the brainstorming and story choices we make early on in the process.

With quieter books/subject matter I think the trick is to make them so utterly human that readers connects almost in spite of their inclination to dismiss a book as quiet. This is where your skill and finesse at plumbing the human spirit and heart will have a chance to shine.

It can help to look for your own deep personal connection to the themes you’re drawn to. Are you longing for forgiveness? Is there someone you should forgive, but can’t? Has someone in your life shown great self sacrifice that inspired or benefited you in some way? If so, you know these themes as well as anyone and have the ability to weave that into your book in a way that no one else can, and that is where its power will come from.

Which is why it is so critically important for us writers to remember that trends are essentially irrelevant, and good—no, great—writing trumps all. Fantasy was DEAD before Harry Potter. And contemporary realistic YA fiction has been DEAD for a while. Until now, all of a sudden, it’s not.

Tastes, styles, fashion, and the zeitgeist all change over time. If you’re in this writing gig for the long haul, there’s a good chance that what you love to write and the market will eventually line up. And even if that doesn’t happen, if you write well enough, you still have a good chance of breaking through.

Comments

In a rejection I got on my manuscript, an editor cited the glutted market in the genre (I disagree with their assessment of the genre, but it’s a case of ‘this is where it best fits, so we’ll go with that’). However, the editor ALSO said about my story that they just didn’t see it distinguishing itself from the rest of the pack. Obviously, this was a bit of a blow, but also encouraging, as it does make the point: do it well enough, and someone will publish it.

Robin, thank you for this thoughtful article. Now that I’ve learned to write a bigger book, it’s time to learn how to make it so compelling so that instead of the “love this, like that, but” letter, I’ll be receiving “Is it still available? I have to have it” letter.

Good post. I’ve got a few drafts in various stages of editing and I’ve been asking myself how these good stories could be great. I have to remind myself that I am in control. I can change locations, characters, even time. Why not take my contemporary YA and plop my characters into 1941? Or take the dull best friend and make her a bit off kilter? We have the keys to our worlds. Sometimes we forget that.

What a very profound thought: writer know yourself, for the best of all writing, whether it be quiet or loud, set in the future or in the land of the Luddites, comes from the core of one’s being.

So while you are still telling us to “dig deep and tell your most personal, individual stories using your unique voice” you add the caveat, first really, really know yourself.

I love the image of laying out the welcome doormat: the writer as host to her/his world, unwilling to compromise on the integrity of her world, but offering the promise that your every thought will be attended to.

Okay, I think I got it. Instead of asking myself: “Who’s going to read this stuff?”, ask:”Why do I feel compelled to write this stuff?”

So I first read this post about two hours ago, and I’ve been asking myself questions about what drew me to write this. A world where two cultures are clashing, one considering itself “civilized,” the other aspiring to acceptance and wealth, but with insular elements of society still clinging to “the old ways.” A protagonist caught between aspiration and the old ways, who doesn’t feel worthy of his so-called destined role, who only finds himself and his worthiness through a guardian–a female guardian, whom he secretly loves, and who loves him back but is forbidden by cultural mores to be with him.

So is it the culture clash? Is it the romance and its barriers? Hmmm, he feels unworthy. But she loves him anyway. She makes him better. Find the core – convey it to others. Make it shine. Got it. Not easy, but got it.

I suppose I’ll spend the day aspiring to be worthy of what originally compelled me. Thanks, Robin, for asking me to ask myself these questions. Thanks for taking me back, to find my writerly core.

I’m right with you. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about “quiet” fiction and why some such sell quietly while others make a noise.

No one would describe Marilynne Robinson as a commercial writer known for her high concepts, gripping plots or stunning reversals. Yet her 2014 title (only her fourth), Lila, is a current hardcover bestseller.

It’s the story of a minister’s wife who seeks to reconcile her hardscrabble childhood on the run in the company of a drifter with the gentle Christian worldview she encounters at her husband’s church. Not exactly a scintillating plot. No vampires. Low stakes.

Robinson does write exquisitely, of course, but that by itself cannot explain her success. If it did then every MFA novel would hit the lists.

I have come to believe that what makes quiet fiction work, when it does, is its emotional impact. That is not entirely a matter of the author’s plumbing the human spirit and heart–as you so nicely put it, Robin. Every fiction writer does that, you know, or thinks that they do.

No, I believe that it’s not whether a novel is written with passion from a personal place, but how it’s written. It’s not what’s in the author’s heart but what the author stirs in readers’ hearts. And that is crafted onto the page.

The questions you ask are both excellent and by themselves a solid process. They hone what matters to authors. The next trick, ask me, is how then to make those things matter to readers.

Happy New Year, Robin. What’s coming up for you? What can we look forward to reading next?

But isn’t there a possibility, Don, that with Robinson’s Lila, people were intrigued about the minister’s wife from her previous books about this little community Robinson created? That perhaps this compelling character, as Robin states, from Robinson’s previous book, or rather, a compelling community, is what drew readers to purchase Lila.

Oh for sure, this is the third in her Gilead trilogy and many readers seem to have previously read Gilead and Home. While I wouldn’t call this a series, in a commercial sense, connected novels do have draw.

Robinson’s are stories of spiritual quest. Many find this emotionally gripping, some find it Sunday school reading. (Read the three-star reviews on Amazon, which are often illuminating.)

In her case I do think that whether you find her work emotionally involving depends upon whether you share the spiritual struggles of her characters. If you don’t, her work can feel dry. But if you do it’s sublime…and she crafts it in ways that work.

I would absolutely agree, Don! That’s why I said not ‘only’ conveyed through our writing. But so often great writing can be it’s own crutch if writers don’t go deep enough.

And I actually think a lot of writers only skim the surface level of ‘deep’ and those are often the books I put down unfinished. However, having said that, some manage to have amazing careers never having to go deep, so really, it’s all a crap shoot to some degree. :-)

As for me and what’s next? ::insert hysterical laughter:: Have you been talking to my editor by any chance? No?

Well, I’m not 100% sure yet. I’m wanting to not just leap into the next project in order to have a book out SOON and instead am practicing what I preach and doing a lot of stewing and fermenting and percolating. It may involve more assassin nuns though, because I feel like I’ve only barely explored that world’s story telling possibilities. Plus there are quite a lot of young novitiates whispering in my ear, begging me to tell their story next.

Or I may do something entirely different. I’ll have to wait and see what bubbles up and demands to be told…

Don, there’s something transcendent in those Robinson works. I haven’t read Lila, but I’ve read Gilead (a masterpiece) and Home. There’s something that aches in them, a longing that abides. But then the daily work—amidst which there might be some family wrenching—must, Zen-like, get done.

I get some of same sense in the “quiet” novels of Kent Haruf—Plainsong has the same acuity.

Robin, thanks for the discussion of the merit and the potentials of these kinds of works.

Nice quiet article, Robin. Ever since I started work on my first novel twenty years ago, my goal has always been to write the kind of story that I myself would most like to read. (I’m a serial serial reader of traditional mysteries like P.D. James.) I reasoned that if I like it, others will, too. Some do, some don’t. Usually the readers who criticize them call them “slow”, which might very well translate to “quiet”.

My series consists of traditional mysteries with a uniquely North American setting, the world of the long haul trucker: modest, blue collar, everyday people, no gunplay or car chases or psychopathic villains. But even everyday people in everyday lives feel deeply, and besides the mystery, I suspect a feeling of empathy for the characters is what is most compelling for my readers.

Aha! Looking at my notes from the Surrey Writers Conference, during Don’s “Emotional Craft of Fiction”, I see that I wrote: it’s “not the characters per se, but what they make us feel is what engages us”.

Incidentally, I’m a writer who has chosen to self-publish and you are absolutely right in using the word “luxury”, as I feel very blessed to be able to control all aspects of my work, from flexible deadlines, covers, choice of characters, length of manuscripts, even promotion. I know that not everyone feels as comfortable with the concept or independence, but at this stage of my life and the skills I have, it certainly works best for me.

I really like this topic of exploring why we write what we do. I recently read a book on this topic of digging into your soul when you write. The book was by Brenda Ueland, called If You Want to Write. It was recommended by someone here on WU.

How interesting it would be to compare Ueland’s perspective with that of Julia Baggott’s post. Ueland proposes that we should always be writing from the heart, and that such writing is the strongest, most effective, long-reaching stuff, as opposed to writing for market. I’ve got to check out Baggott’s post now to see what SHE says! =)

Back on your topic, though – the quiet stories. I love it. We dig deep and write about what affects us, what really twangs our heart strings…and sometimes that book isn’t so popular, but so what? So what.

I am now going to type up a little document exploring your questions you posed here…I think it will help me as I write the second draft of my fantasy novel. =) Thank you, Robin!

I’ve loved Ann Rice’s words of wisdom to us writers to “write the story you want to read.” For me that means playing with fire, because I love to read complex, sweeping epic fantasy stories. For a first-time writer that is a very bad idea. But oh well. I will work on building up my scars and toughening up, and eventually I’ll get there.

I write because I love being able to bring to life the stories that have my heart in an unrelenting grip, not because I want fame or the label of being an author. I will stop at nothing to get them right and make them shine. Quiet or not quiet, this writer is not so concerned. Written or not written, that is more of a problem; life is too short to put off doing what we are most passionate about.

Robin (and others),
At the risk of exposing myself as a nitwit, after reading this great post and mulling over how to use a thought to improve my writing, the phrase that keeps on running through my mind is “stunning reversals”. I’ve been thinking about stunning reversals all day now and trying to think of examples in great fiction, and I guess I just don’t know what you mean.

Can some of you share some stunning reversals from books? If you give the example, I’ll find the book and read it, promise. Thanks. :)

Although it’s hard to share stunning reversals without spoiling plots, so instead I’ll try and explain.

It’s basically a surprise plot twist where something happens in a novel that changes everything–either for the protagonist or what the reader thought was happening. So in the original Star Wars movies, one reversal was when Obi Wan was killed. Another was when Darth Vader was revealed to be Luke’s father. It’s a plot point that not only ramps up the stakes, but calls into question everything the protagonist (and therefore reader) thought/expected.

I started my first draft full of romantic sensibilities, then realised that wasn’t going anywhere and let the head take over to try shovelling it into a certain genre, whilst feeling constantly out of place.

After starting the first read through I had an epiphany where I realised I needed to stop stressing and pour my heart into the personal elements I’d been skirting around.

Once I’ve got the story head and heart can do lunch and work out a business plan.